


Live

by scurvaliciousbay



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst?, Blood, Blood Magic, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love, M/M, Near Death Experiences, POV Zevran Arainai, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay
Summary: (The self-harm is for the purpose of blood magic, nothing else)A mage's phylactery is a leash, and they are done with leashes. All they ever wanted was to live, free of the Crows and of the Circle. Fal freed Zevran from the Crows, and it's time for Zevran to return the favor.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Live

It did not escape his notice that of all the buildings to sustain damage during the battle, Denerim’s Chantry was one of the least hit. Not to say it wasn’t damaged, but it wasn’t rubble. There was a smudged but clear ring of darker dirt surrounding the abbey, marking the place where so many people decided they would die fighting to protect the Chantry. He could contemplate the sadness of the loss of life, but now was not the time. Rather, it was fortunate for him and his purposes this night. 

Zevran slipped into the Chantry, quick and unnoticed, the shadows concealing him like a familiar coat. His steps made no noise, his eyes were quick, his decisions quicker. Not so long ago, he would have been reveling in this, the knowledge he was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, about to do something many did not want to happen, but also something some  _ did _ want. So much had changed in a short amount of time. He wasn’t that man anymore, and thank the Maker for that. 

_ “The elvhen word for love is vhenan.” Fal whispered, gently running his finger down Zevran’s arm.  _

_ “A pretty word,” Zevran murmured sleepily.  _

_ “I think...I think my father was Dalish, because he would say that sometimes. I remember him saying my name and that. Vhenan.” _

_ “Amor…” _

_ “And this word, I want it for us. I want it for you...vhenan.” _

The corridor was lit with the bare minimum number of candles, casting large shadows that made this easy. None of this was easy though. 

The door he wanted was located in the Revered Mother’s quarters. Zevran happened to know she was currently occupied at the palace, praying over the brave souls who risked their lives during the battle. The Chantry had unfortunately been too small to house all of them, and the newly minted King had graciously allowed the use of the palace to serve as an infirmary. 

Zevran opened the door with the key he had swiped from the Mother earlier in the day. The door lead to a dark downward sloping staircase that Zevran descended swiftly. There were no sounds of activity, but there was another barrier he would need to pass in order to reach his destination. 

His ears pricked and he stopped, listening carefully. 

_ “I love your ears,” Fal purred, nibbling at the sensitive lobe. _

Metal scraped against stone - Templar. A lone one given the limited sounds and the fact that he knew that the Templars were largely called to assist in other areas of the city that had sustained significant magical damage. 

Relying on his hearing and hands, Zevran finished descending the stairs. The landing was small and the templar stood guard at a wide, metal door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but Zevran was nothing if not skilled. Leveraging all his quickness, Zevran rounded the edge of the room, maintaining himself in the templar’s blindspot. He dropped to the floor behind the templar, struck out with his legs, knocking the guard to the ground.

“Oomf!” Zevran grabbed hold of the helmet and slammed it into the ground once, twice, until he was sufficiently knocked unconscious. There. He’ll wake up with a nasty headache and bump on his head, but he wouldn’t be dead unlike many of his fellows.

Zevran picked up the key loop from the templar’s belt and went to the task of opening the door. There was a total of four keys to open the damned thing, but he was determined.

_ “You’re quite talented, you know,” Fal said, fully clothed in broad daylight, watching Zevran sharpen his knives. _

_ Zevran quirked a brow, “I am happy to show you my talents.” _

_ Fal rolled his eyes, “Outside of lovemaking and death. I mean, your mind, you’re clever.” _

The door swung open and there he was, standing inside a vault full of blood, but he only wanted to find one.

_ “I wish I wasn’t a mage sometimes,” Fal confessed, his body turned away from Zevran’s.  _

_ “Why? Your magic is beautiful, and quite enjoyable.” _

_ “It’s a leash. No matter how good I am, how much I try, they’ll always hunt me down if they so much as think I’ve stepped out of line. An elven mage? We’re hunted.” _

_ Zevran turned over and wrapped his arms around Faleris, holding him tightly, angry at a world that seemed determined to villainize his lover. “I won’t let that happen.” _

There were thousands of vials, hallways full of racks of blood with neat labels. His skin itched from the magic permeating the air, making him angry at the hypocrisy. It was blood magic, using a mage’s own blood to track them, not that the Chantry would ever admit it. 

_ Fal relaxed in Zevran’s arms, “When I don’t dream of darkspawn, I dream of them. I prefer the darkspawn.” _

As clever as Fal believed him to be, Zevran had no idea how the vials were organized. He started with the obvious thought, alphabetical, but it there were only clusters of alphabetized vials. There were no consistent...wait, there. He gently moved a vial to the side, finding a plaque reading “9:1 Dragon”. Of course, they were organized by the year each mage was harrowed. Fal had told Zevran of the Harrowing, how they stuck demons inside of apprentices and expected them to resist it otherwise they were killed. Or even worse, they weren’t even Harrowed and were made tranquil. 

Zevran moved through the racks faster after that, checking the dated sections, going further back and to the left until he found a half-full section labeled “9:30 Dragon.” This was it, Fal’s phylactery had to be here...and there it was. There weren’t many phylacteries for the year, given the state of affairs, but there was Fal’s - a small, glass tube that looked like every other vial in the room. The blood was bright red, the stopper laden with magic. 

_ “I want you to feel something,” Fal whispered, leaning over Zevran, already naked and wanting. _

_ “I already feel it - _

_ “Not that, silly! But this.” Fal ran his hands down his sides, incredible pinpricks of energy and pleasure sinking into his skin. Zevran gasped then groaned. _

_ “It’s my magic, for you. I want you to love it like I do.” _

_ Zevran flipped them over, kissing Fal deeply, “Oh I love it.” _

There was no pleasure with this magic, but the prickliness was familiar. The blood was familiar too, though he wouldn’t have known it if it were not for the label. All blood looked the same, but this...this was taken from Faleris when he was just a child, to be tracked if he ever deigned to leave the confines of that prison they call a Circle. Or if he dared to use magic they deemed wrong.

_ This was it, Zevran thought, this was how he died. It was terrible too, just when he had decided to live again, when he discovered what it was to love and be loved in turn.  _

_ “Vhenan! No! No! You can’t, you can’t!” Fal...he was crying and screaming.  _

_ “Shh, shh, amor, it’s alright.” He tried to speak, but there was too much blood in his mouth. He knew they were out of the healing poultices. He knew that Fal had no real skills as a healer. He was so gifted in his magic, but healing...it wasn’t one of them. And Wynne wasn’t near. _

_ “Vhenan, I...I won’t lose you. Just...just hold on for me, please.” How could Zevran not do as Fal asked when he sounded like that, when he looked like that - broken and crying, the dirt and blood on his face making his hazel eyes stand out even more? _

_ Fal reached down and pulled out a knife Zevran kept on his belt, and before Zevran could process it, Fal was dragging the knife across his palm. Forbidden words slipped past his lips and the blood spilling from his hand began to move. The pain in Zevran’s body faded slightly, and Fal cut himself again. More pain faded. Another cut. Less pain.  _

_ It took five cuts for Zevran to find the strength to reach up and snatch the knife away. _

_ “You will not kill yourself because of me!” _

_ “I’m...fine.” Fal collapsed in Zevran’s arms, bloody and exhausted but alive.  _

_ Back at camp, Wynne healed them both and she thankfully said nothing about the obvious carnage done to Fal’s hand.  _

Zevran left the vault with the vial tucked into his cloak. He had “accidentally” knocked over a couple of the other vials in the vault to make it less obvious that Fal’s vial was missing. After everything Fal had done for the world...the world owed him his freedom at least. Zevran knew that the world wouldn’t give what wouldn’t be taken, so he took it for Fal. 

He sneaked his way back into the palace, up to the private bedrooms where a specific elven mage lay unconscious and healing. 

He closed the door to the bedroom behind him and took off his outer layers, palming the small vial.

“I know it’s late, mi amor, but when has that stopped us?” He asked the silent man. 

“Mm, yes, the Deep Roads. You hated it there, never in the mood for anything fun if you couldn’t feel the sun the next day.” He climbed onto the bed and kissed Fal’s temple gently, careful not to touch any of the bruises that still colored his body. 

_ “I love you, how can I...even if I  _ liked _ that, how...would you forgive me?” Fal asked, pain clear on his face even in the lowlight of the fire.  _

_ “Mi amor, you have found a way to live. I beg you, live.” _

Fal had taken Morrigan’s gamble, and still he was here in this bed, nearly motionless, breathing shallow, and barely clinging to life. Zevran would have hunted the witch if he didn’t know that even this much was a miracle thanks to her. 

Zevran crawled into the bed, careful not to jostle Fal. He took Fal’s right hand, pausing to run a thumb over the ugly scar that marred his palm. He kissed the scar for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping it wasn’t his last. He took the vial out of his shirt pocket and pressed it to Fal’s palm.

“You’re free, amor, they won’t ever be able to hunt you. You’re safe.” He kissed Fal’s lips, his heart hurting terribly in his chest. “Now, please, live.  _ Live. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos and comment! I love hearing from y'all.


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